


I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night

by ariannenymerosmartell (somethingmoo)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingmoo/pseuds/ariannenymerosmartell





	I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night

He sees her for the first time, this dark haired beauty, walking along the shore of the beaches near Storm’s End. Her skirts are lifted, just to her calves, gathered carefully in one hand so that the hems don’t collect sand and salt water. Her feet are bare, and her inky hair streams in the wind. Though he cannot see her full face—just her profile—he can tell she is lovely. High cheekbones, long, straight nose, full lips. And with her long hair flowing behind her like the waves she is watching, she looks like a goddess come to earth.

In that moment, Steffon finally understands what King Durran must have felt when he beheld the goddess Elenei. He understands how a man can be made to forget fear, and danger. How a man could want to defy the gods. The notions are silly and romantic, and Steffon has always considered himself more practical than whimsical, but he wants nothing more than to take this woman into his arms and make her his wife. They will be King Durran and the goddess Elenei come again.

As if she senses his gaze, she turns and when her gaze lands on him, he feels all the breath leave his body. She is beyond beautiful, this goddess of his, with blue-grey eyes, like the sea after a storm. His heart pounds in his chest when she gives him a small smile, quickly rights her skirts, and curtsies.

“My Lord,” she says, in a voice that is sure and strong. She does not stammer or blush like so many of the other maidens he has met, the ones who see him only as Lord of Storm’s End, or Lord Steffon Baratheon. She is not tongue-tied, or shy. She is bold, and strong, and Steffon knows, right then and there, that this is the woman he will wed.

She introduces herself as Cassana Estermont, Lord Estermont’s only daughter. He knows the Estermonts are one of his lesser bannermen. He knows that a marriage to Cassana would bring no great honors or boons to House Baratheon, can hear Cressen telling him that it might be better to wed one of the greater houses, but Steffon cannot bring himself to care. He has done his duty to his King, to his people. He is an able Lord, a good lord, and he thinks they will be able to excuse him this one discretion.

He asks if he might walk with her then, and she laughs and tells him that he is her liege lord and might walk wherever he pleases. Her boldness delights him, and her sharp tongue and quick wit charm him further. There is no subject Cassana is hesitant to discuss—storms, ships, the land, politics, their families, the King—they talk and talk and talk, walking back and forth along the sand.

By the time it is dusk, they are both barefoot, his breeches rolled up past his ankles, her skirts gathered up again, all propriety forgotten. Their throats are dry, and sand and salt must cover every inch of them, but Steffon cannot bring himself to say goodbye.

She does, insisting she must ride back to her castle, laughing that her Septa will never let her out again, since her quick excursion to walk by the sea has turned into an all day trek.

When he asks if he might see her again, she laughs and reminds him that he is her liege lord. He might see her whenever he pleases.

He rides the next day to House Estermont and asks for her hand.

They are married in a fortnight, it is a whirlwind, and Cressen frowns when some of his more prestigious bannermen begin to whisper that he must have taken her maidenhead, gotten her pregnant, and is rushing now to save the girl from disgrace.

He tells Cassana as much, not wanting to lie to her, not wanting her to hear the rumors from someone other than himself, and she sighs, and tells him that people will say whatever they wish to make themselves feel better. She tells him instead that all of her maids swoon about romance and true love, about wanting a man to steal them away, and that she doesn’t have the heart to tell them that she stole him.

It is then that he calls her his Elenei and is pleased when she calls him her Durran, and for the course of their marriage, unlike the king and the goddess they fashion themselves after, they face few storms. If they fight, and they do, all couples do, and they are both too stubborn not to, they make up quickly, their love more important than a squabble. They compromise. They love. He rarely yells, and she rarely cries, and life for them seems as if it is a dream.

They have three healthy sons, each one strong and handsome, and though they look more like him, all Storm Lords, no turtles, and though they are all so very different, they love each one as fiercely and deeply as they can. Robert, bold as brass, like his mother, Stannis pensive and thoughtful like himself, and sweet baby Renly who has his mother’s charm and his father’s laugh, even as a babe. Their boys, their sons, their love.

 

They have faced no storms, and Steffon is convinced that their love is strong enough to drive the very worst back. They are a king and a goddess, they are loyal subjects, they are loving parents, they are _meant to be_.

 

The words are almost too romantic to say, yet he says them anyway, and often to Cassana, and she smiles her bright smile, calls him her Durran, and says _Yes, yes, my love. I know that well_.

When the seas begin to churn, just as they have spotted home, when the ship begins to rock violently, throwing them from side-to-side, even then Cassana does not cry. She reaches for him, and he goes to her, wrapping his arms about her, knowing, _knowing_ …

“Our boys…” she says, sadly, longingly, and he knows she is aching to hold Renly close to her, to have Robert pick them both up and spin them around. He knows that she is picturing Stannis, at the edge of things, until she goes and coaxes a smile out of him in only the way she can.

“Are good boys. We’ve done well with them, I think,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. He silently prays that Robert might learn to value peace, Stannis, joy, and Renly, patience. They have taught their boys the best they could, but they are not blind to their faults.

“I should have known,” he says, trying to lighten her mood. “The Storm King was never meant to leave that castle.”

“The sea gods take their revenge,” she whispers, and kisses him, strong and sure as she always is.

They are the last words they speak.


End file.
